The X-Files :: Menagerie
by MekQuarrie
Summary: Mulder & Scully in Gotham City. 'Nuff said. :: [Not at all #msr] :: 'Forst Water Tower' image reworked from Wikimedia Commons.
1. Chapter 1

"I'll get coffees. Will I leave our baggage here?" Mulder pointed to a concession stand along the sidewall and then at their stack of cases piled beside the carousel. Other passengers grumbled and muttered as they walked and leaned around the small pile.

"That's fine," Scully said quietly. "I'll make sure no-one steals your underwear." Then she yawned again. "What is that stink?"

"Probably the pollution. Gotham is the last city to still have significant heavy industry in the downtown area." He winked. "Get your friends in the EPA to have a word."

Although Mulder had significantly more contacts in the environment agency, she nodded indulgently and waved her hand to encourage him to go.

She switched on her cellphone and looked for a signal. She lifted the handset to her eye-level and moved it left and right. Still no signal. After several seconds she flipped the handset closed and looked around for assistance.

The area at the baggage claim where they had stacked their own bags had now become quiet, but the carousel in the next bay had lurched into life and a fresh squall of passengers was flowing thru. She noted an officer of the Transit Police standing quietly between the two bays observing people and their activity. From behind she could see his body armor and the short machine pistol peculiar to airport duties.

Mulder returned with two steaming paper cups in a cardboard tray.

"Officer," she said. "We're Federal agents on our way into the city. Is there a place we can get a better signal?"

"Feds? You here for the Wayne investigation? That's a real waste of your time. I'm sorry to hear that."

"We can't really say, but..." She nodded conspiratorially. "...It is a very important case. And we need to contact the local office to let them know our location."

His face remained helpful. "There was a drill this morning. We're still waiting for the towers to be switched back on. There's regular payphones over there if you got change." He nudged the butt of his machine pistol and it turned to point at a bank of open phones. "You have a nice day," he said as he continued on his way. "Welcome to Gotham City."

Mulder handed her the cup with the boiling hot green tea. "I'll make the call," he said. "I got a pocket full of change from the coffee stand."

**:::**

The quarters dropped smoothly into the slot. The succession of well-remembered button pushes was met by a brief ring and a grumbled snort of acknowledgement.

"Wuh?"

Mulder laughed to himself. "Bobby. It's Mulder." He tried to sound as friendly as he could. They had only met twice before. Mandatory training courses. But contacts were always useful.

"Oh hey. It's the Fox. Is it today? Are you in town?" Bobby was clearly excited.

Mulder nodded to no-one in particular. "We're at Nixon now. Do we have a car coming?"

There was a brief pause. "Ah. Sorry buddy. Since the city got religion, all our expenses are under scrutiny. Even the account with 'Enterprise' is on hold."

Mulder raised his eyebrows. Not a surprise. "We'll get the rental then. I'll claim it back in D.C."

"Would you mind?"

"Are you asking?"

"I guess not." There was an apologetic chuckle down the phone.

"We'll see you for lunch. Will I have to buy that too?" He knew a joke would be the friendly thing to say.

There was a short pause. "Is your lady friend coming?" Mulder could clearly visualize the leering look. Bobby was a gentleman, but he talked about women all day long.

Mulder played innocent. "I don't know what 'lady friend' means. I can confirm Agent Scully is part of our investigative delegation."

There was a sniff down the phone. "I'll see what I can do about that check. We'll call it a meeting. Which it will be."

Mulder laughed quietly. "Don't do anything that will get you into trouble. We'll see you in about an hour."

**:::**

The monorail glided smoothly past the remains of several large warehouses. After following the disused canal the buildings became denser, a mix of brownstones and shorter rebuilds. At each stop a dull tone warned of the doors opening then closing. There were no announcements.

Mulder felt like an idiot although it was not his fault the rental desk had no vehicles left. Poor planning was the excuse. Mulder had not disagreed.

"More smells," Scully noted. She searched in her purse for a paperback and held it down in her lap, intent on reading.

"That's the breweries," said Mulder. "The raw materials stink. At least from out here they do. But once they've worked their brewery wizardry, when it gets into the bars, it becomes something magical." He winked, but Scully continued to read her paperback.

"Sartre liked a drink," he teased. "Sheer hell when he had too much."

She turned the page of the novel. The train cars started to ride lower between the buildings, and the towers of the city started to squeeze in tighter.

"Hell is other people's cases," he joked. "I didn't know you spoke French."

She tapped her finger on the current page. "I don't. But I read it well enough."

There was silence again. "You know you didn't have to come," Mulder noted as she looked down. "It's only a few days. I'm not going to cause trouble or elope. Not on a tax case."

Scully sighed and put the book to one side. She met his gaze with a reassuring look. "The Wayne investigation is probably the Bureau's biggest case of the century. Agents from all over the Justice Department. I wouldn't mind getting my hands dirty for a change. A proper police case."

"Well, you've read all about Gotham. You'll find dirty hands here. So watch where you put yours if you want to get back to D.C. with all your fingers." He raised his eyebrows comically.

The train car descended into a tunnel and for a brief second they were in darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone seemed to leave the train at The Square so they nodded to each other and threw their bags onto the platform.

"Hopefully we'll get a cell signal at street level," said Scully as they ascended by escalator to street level.

"Ah, bingo!" said Mulder as they emerged back into natural light. They were standing in one corner of a bland municipal square. Financial buildings lined three sides of the square and older, still imposing blocks filled in the gaps. Mulder pointed up at the distinctive Gothic pillar of the Wayne Building. "That must be the place."

Scully looked up at the hazy cloud at the top of the building. Pigeons circled and swooped in unison like bats in a rotten belfry.

"Why don't you check in at high command?" said Mulder. "I'll take the bags to the district office and then to the hotel. It's only about a block that way."

Scully thought briefly. Although she did want a shower, they had wasted a good chunk of the day already and she wanted to get up to speed with the case with the agents on the ground, even if it was for just a few minutes. "Okay. We'll meet back at the Sheraton. Don't speak to any strange people," she warned. Mulder winked and stopped to arrange the cases around him.

**:::**

The main entrance to the Wayne Building was now arranged to face The Square, but historically had been accessed from many levels and entrances.

The lot normally reserved for directors' parking, courier delivery and catering trucks was completely filled with investigative vehicles; police vehicles, station wagons, minivans with roof-mounted aerials, longer caravans, free-standing trailers. After a short search, the tactical number on the longest trailer suggested that this was the location of the main coordinating units.

Scully knocked firmly on the door of the trailer. No-one answered. After several seconds she decided to just open the door and enter. Inside, rows of desk computers were squeezed into the long space. The surfaces were covered by leather bound ledgers, stacks of printouts, plastic boxes contain disks and memory cards, newspaper clippings, coffee cups, and candy wrappers. The considerable number of analysts were in the middle of a briefing against the back wall. Thankfully, the air conditioning was working perfectly.

A woman dressed in the smart suit of an agent, was approaching her. She clutched a Psion PDA and a Filofax to her waist. "Sorry. Always meeting. Can I help you?"

"Not a problem. Special Agent Scully. Call me Dana. D.C. Special Delegation. I'm here to help you."

"Ah yes. Agent Watson. Call me Watson. Everyone else does. Even my husband. You're running a bit late, aren't you? Where are the rest of you?" She looked to the door then back to Scully, disappointed.

"Special Agent Mulder is going ahead to the District Office. He allowed for two other agents on the delegation, but I don't think that's going to happen."

Watson seemed amused. "Just two agents? Special Agents, of course. But that's some delegation."

Scully shrugged. "Yes. But it is a 'special' delegation." They both smiled. Scully felt a little like she was trying to bluff her way into a party at college, but Watson did not seem bothered.

Watson showed her to a small upholstered area which promised reasonable comfort. The meeting was dispersing and men and women in shirts and ties returned to workstations, nodding acknowledgement.

Watson pointed to a padded bench. "Have a seat. What do you think of the Dick? We need to tear down all that French-inspired concrete. Get some modern design and materials."

Scully resisted the urge to shrug. "If I notice the airport, it's been a bad trip. I just like my baggage to arrive in the right place."

Watson laughed, her smile revealing well kept natural teeth. "The GCX handlers have a special charm of their own. I think they want to show how badly things could go wrong if they weren't co-operating. But that's for the city to handle. We just have the Wayne Corporation to untangle. In some ways it might be easier to pay bargain with the baggage handlers. At least we can see their faces."

"Surely you are in constant contact with Wayne?"

"He's supposed to be 'contactable' twenty-four/seven." She emphasized the word. "In reality, we get the lawyers and the personal assistants for most of the day. I deal with the White House all the time. It's easier to speak to the President."

**:::**

Watson kneeled on the bench and pressed a finger against the picture window.

"That one's from Justice, there's an IRS caravan somewhere. G.C.P.D. had to divert the traffic in the streets around the Wayne Building. Near chaos. They just love it when Washington comes to town showing them how to run things."

Scully looked back at the barely organized circus. "I want to roam at first," she said. "Is that alight? Just get a draft of the bigger picture."

Watson nodded. "Do what you want. It's not as if you would be holding anyone back. "She laughed. "Just stay out of my way." Scully smiled too. "Why don't you take a walk around the Wayne Building itself," Watson continued. "Their admin people are up on the second and third floors." She had a thought. "You know. There's a girl up there, Kyle, a bit of a weird cat. She has some low-rent job description like 'xerox clerk' or something like that. But she so obviously knows everything that's going on." Watson caught Scully's skeptical look. "Don't be fooled. Kyle operates intellectually at a level way above our pay grade."

A small buzz emitted from her cellphone. Without looking at it, Watson cancelled the reminder and sighed.

"I have to pick up my kid from childcare now. Can you find your way around from here?"

"Yes," said Scully. "Can I just go straight in?" She pointed at the stone cladding of the building outside the window.

Watson nodded. "Just imagine you own the place."


	3. Chapter 3

The security at the Federal Building was non-existent. Mulder tried to catch the eye of the receptionist while two G.C.P.D. officers stood off to one side exchanging muttered comments. "Excuse me. Excuse me, I'm here to see Bobby. I'm with the D.C. Special Delegation."

The woman behind the desk displayed two special expressions of disgust; one for Bobby and one for the delegation. "First floor at the back. The elevator is off, but the stairs there will take you right up."

Bobby sat on his desk and pointed a remote at the ageing TV set in the corner. The news came into view, suitably muted. He nodded as Mulder entered.

"Just another day in the naked city." He pointed at the anchorwoman trying to feign interest in a cotton candy stall and some distracted children. "Naked, bound, gagged, tarred and feathered." He noted Mulder's apprehension. "The city I mean." He gestured at the groomed presenter. "Alice is alright. You should hear her stories about Indochina."

"Maybe we'll have time for that later in the week." Mulder pulled up a chair and sat opposite Bobby. "Tell me about the surge in street violence; the weird characters." Mulder had exchanged a long series of electronic mails with Bobby, stilted and tedious, that revealed little more than the available news reports.

"Nothing special, Foxy. Just vigilantes with a bit more imagination than we're used to." He sniffed the coffee in a large cup in front of him. "That's good." He pointed to the small coffee machine dripping efficiently in on the ledge by the window and indicated it was available to his guest.

Mulder shook his head. "Just human then? No allegations of strange creatures?" Mulder was in two minds. If this was just a series of exuberant libertarians, he wanted to return home straight away to his news clippings and beer bottles. But if this was something more, humans or half-humans with unknown abilities, he had to be here on the ground. He had to know.

"Oh, like that 'mothman' thing you were always chasing?" Bobby shook his head. "Nah. Just vigilantes. So many vigilantes. A wolf, a dog, a bat, a cat."

"A rat?" Mulder added. Disappointment seeped into his pores. He was already considering a flight home.

"Is that a new one?" Bobby raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling in a way that emphasized his receding hairline and added ten years to his appearance. "I haven't read all the reports this morning."

"No, I was joining in. I've no idea what any of those rumors are."

"Sure. Who knows? There'll be a rat soon enough. A rat man maybe. But you should drop in to a Post Office. Check out the sketches. Hilarious."

"Is there anyone collecting all the 'character' data together?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Me." He tapped the side of his skull. "In here. You want it written down? It wouldn't fill two sides of the paper." He looked around for a loose sheet of paper.

Mulder sighed. "We can do that later. Give me some kind of lead. Surely there's someone I can talk to."

"Hey. I thought we were talking? I got a week off the Wayne tax case just to help you."

Mulder was surprised. Bobby's offer of assistance was probably more selfish than selfless. A week on mind-numbing filing or a couple of days hanging around bars with an old buddy, chewing the fat. But Bobby knew Gotham before it got all crazy.

Mulder knew he had to appeal to Bobby's old-school nature. He leaned forward and clapped his palms on the desk decisively. "So let's hit the streets together. Like a couple of cops on the beat." He nodded encouragingly, vaguely indicating the city outside.

Bobby smiled. "Hey. We're better than that. Detectives! Real detectives on the trail of real criminals." He pushed a pile of photostats which pointedly refused to fall over. "Not this shit."

**:::**

Bobby's Mercury was parked in a lot squeezed into the lane behind the Federal building. He tapped the roof affectionately. "I'll get a Camaro when I retire," he mused. "What do you drive?"

Mulder opened the door and sat in the passenger seat. "Too many cars in D.C. I use rentals when I need to."

Bobby looked at Mulder carefully. "You can drive, right?"

Mulder nodded. "Of course."

"Good. I'll need you as wing man if we spend too long hunting down my snitches. Know what I mean?"

Mulder knew by reputation that every bar was a chance for Bobby to drink, every strip joint was a chance to stop and stare. "That's commendable. I'm glad Gotham is strict about its drink driving laws."

Bobby snorted. "I don't know about that, otherwise I'd never have got in to work this morning." He belched to emphasize his point. Now Mulder noticed the smell of mild beer. "No. You need to drive me back if I start to get numb in my feet." He laughed raucously then backed up the car.

Mulder did not answer. He needed Bobby's know-how if he was going to make any progress with the vigilante situation. But if Bobby continued to be a total ass, he might have to rethink that strategy. He pulled out his cellphone.

"Got to check in with the little lady? Good idea. Keep her sweet. I know what you're thinking there. Good plan."

Mulder tapped the phone absentmindedly. "Is there anywhere in Gotham that has even basic reception?"

Despite driving fast in the afternoon traffic, Bobby leaned over to look at the little screen. "What carrier do you have? What is that? Old Grandma Bell? No. In Gotham you have to use a local service. The national carriers won't pay the extra fees to maintain the towers." He looked back to the road. "Know what I mean?"

Mulder already had a feel for how Gotham was run. "What's the name of the local provider? I'll look it up." He tried to access the settings on his handset.

Bobby laughed again. "What? You can't guess?"


	4. Chapter 4

Scully put the print of Kyle's picture back in her pocket and entered the open-plan area. Despite the modern arrangement of desks and computer terminals, the roof, glass windows and floor retained their art deco style.

A young woman, still a girl really, looked over the partition. Her hair was cut short and close to the lines of her face. She looked brighter and more intelligent than the stern face in the photo.

"Can I help you?" she asked with a sparkle reserved for visiting clients.

Scully showed her badge and shrugged apologetically. "Sorry. More government business. Special Agent Scully. But you can call me Dana."

"Don't worry, Dana," she said. "You do know I get paid overtime for helping the Department of Justice? The more they need to know, or the more you need to know, the more money I make."

"That's certainly ironic," said Scully.

"My badge says Kyle. But you should call me Selina for best results."

"What do you do for the company, Selina?"

"As much as I need to," said Kyle. "Some days the mega-bucket of shit, most days just the regular pile to shovel."

Scully laughed. "Ah. Me too." Scully looked over the ordered and clean desk. There was little in the way of personal material. A postcard from Cancun sat picture up in Kyle's intray. A small plastic nameplate, the kind that could be bought from a carousel in a stationery store, stood against the fabric of the dividing partition. The selection of available names had clearly not been infinite, and Kyle's gift-giver had settled, perhaps with some reluctance, on the more commercial variant of 'Selena'.

"Someone you know in Mexico?" Scully ventured.

Kyle's eyes flashed momentarily, then she noticed the card. She picked it up and turned it over. An illegible pen script filled the left panel of the card. On the right, alongside the more carefully inscribed address, was a small list of initials running down the border. Most of the list had been checked off in random colors. At the bottom the paired letters 'SK' remained unmarked.

She shrugged and looked at the picture on the front again. "Someone in marketing who thinks we're all best friends. Part of The Big Wayne Family." She thumbed the initials to confirm that she was last on the list then tapped the card and tore it in two. "All done," she continued before discarding the pieces in the waste-paper basket by her foot. "Shall I show you some of the actual documents I work on?"

"I don't want to disturb the paper trail by moving things around. Why don't you walk me thru how the organization works? From your point of view, I mean."

Kyle sat back in the ergonomic chair and tapped a ballpoint pen against her knee. "Let me think." She seemed to decide on a way to reply then stood up scanning the other desks. She pointed at a free-standing whiteboard along the far wall. "Bring your coffee, or whatever that is, over there."

**:::**

The dry marker squeaked as it danced across the surface. Kyle was almost indifferent to any aesthetic effect.

"Any traditional organization has a pyramid structure with the layers of management at the top and the people who do the actual work piled at the bottom." She scribbled out a fat triangle and dotted a line across the middle to indicate about a quarter of the area was management. She discarded the pen into a basket and plucked a blue marker from the row aligned along the bottom of the board. "Your modern start-up is flat with the leadership likely to be working at the same tasks as the so-called ordinary staff." She marked out a flat line and tried, badly, to make it look like it was still a triangle by adding a faint bump in the middle.

"You see what I mean?" She paused briefly to actually look at Scully's reaction, then moved on. "And the government is stacked like this." She drew a tall spike with a cartoon star at the top. "That's your friend the President up there."

Scully finished the pale green tea and tried not to be sour about Kyle's _Sesame Street_ version of Government 101. "We rarely speak," she joked. "So Wayne Industries is a big tower with the directors at the top? That's good to know."

Kyle frowned and smiled sadly. She turned to the board and furiously wiped away the main part of her previous drawings. "No," she said. "This is Wayne Industries." She scribbled a tall but smaller proportioned triangle with plenty of blank space above it. "And Bruce Wayne. Mr. Wayne, the Big Boss. Is up here." She dabbed a tiny dot at the top edge of the white surface proportionately miles above the pyramid. Then hyperbole got the better of her and she discarded the pen and pointed above the board. One arm stretched up to strike an imaginary target, the other stretched down balancing her body. "Here. Here. Above everything. Like he thinks he's God."

Scully noticed she had been holding her breath for several seconds, not taken at all by the facile illustrations of an industrial power structure, but bemused by the inward fury of the slight young woman in front of her. "Well," she said, letting out her breath in a nervous laugh. "Don't the gods make men great before they destroy them?"

Kyle's eyes flitted to Scully's. The frown softened and she shook her head. "Euripides didn't say that." She turned to the board and started to clear the picture. She left the little dot at the top and stared blankly ahead.

Scully was not sure what to say. "I wasn't making fun of you," she ventured. "It makes a change to see someone with a bit of…" She struggled for the word.

Kyle turned to face Scully, her eyelids narrowed. She waited for a second, but Scully said nothing more. "I have to go now," said Kyle. "Printouts and spreadsheets for the assessors. But we'll meet up later?"

Scully tilted her head without any commitment. "I'll let you go," she said.


	5. Chapter 5

"Mr. Pennyworth?" The curator sounded surprised. He had not expected any visitors at the Hermitage. It was closed to all guests.

Alfred turned and nodded sagely. "Just routine, Laurent. I rarely get to see the silverware myself. I thought I would take a look before the crowds gather." He twisted the wet umbrella in his left hand, and let the water drain into the iron grate on the floor.

Laurent blinked and thought for a second. His visitor was not on any of the security lists, but everyone knew who Mr. Pennyworth was. And often Alfred the so-called butler meant trouble.

"_Oui._ Of course. You must know that Mr. Wayne's security firm went thru everything with us already today. And the Police Department also had a briefing at lunch-time. They talked to us, mainly about crowding in the street, and we listened. They do not seem very happy with the exhibition at this time. A distraction for them, no?" He flourished an ambivalent palm.

"_Si_," said Alfred. "But Mr. Wayne must carry on being Mr. Wayne. The local police can carry out their usual duties, which we greatly appreciate. Wayne Star Security will deal with any unexpected problems."

"_Oui._ Wayne Star are guarding every location, even the restrooms. Is that all, Mr. Pennyworth?" Laurent smiled, his feet ready to move off in another direction.

Alfred sighed, then looked embarrassed. "May I see the exhibition halls? Just a personal indulgence I suppose." His face was as pleasant as could be expected from a retired soldier. It was almost as if Laurent could refuse.

**:::**

Laurent wiped his mouth as they reached the top of the stone staircase. "So this is the main entrance to the exhibit. We also have a single exit at the top of the other staircase." He mimed awkwardly the circulation of visitors. "People will follow a relaxed trail from one end of the exhibit to the other. Security will be tight, but totally invisible."

Alfred had first ascended the black stone steps with a wide-eyed Master Bruce. The young heir had first marvelled at the natural history and crafts, then, over the years, became bored. _"Science and Tech. Take me to the S&T,"_ he would demand. Happy days.

Alfred looked around the balcony, conjuring fanciful scenes. The gap from one side to the other could probably be crossed by the flimsiest of climbing equipment, and the family of mammoth skeletons would be skipped across like stepping stones by the nimblest of athletes. But that was not the point.

Laurent broke into the cloud of speculation by clearing his throat. Alfred nodded and turned to meet the curator's gaze. "I'm sure this takes account of all the elements you can reasonably expect," he said.

"_Bien __sûr__._ What else is there?" Laurent's hands slapped slowly against the side of his legs.

"Oh. The non human elements," said Alfred. He stared up at the dark vaulted roof, the paint of its crumbling murals still caked in coal dust and cigarette smoke.

"Ah. But the weather, Mr. Pennyworth. It is outside. We have not had the hurricane for many years. And even so, each case is closed chemically. It may look like glass, but it has the strength of iron." He waved back to the exhibition hall. "The building can collapse, but the silver will be safe."

Alfred had personally observed the military testing of the glass cases. His ears still hurt. But that was not what worried him.

**:::**

Laurent pulled the security strip across the exit and clipped it into the side of the doorframe.

"I am sorry we only had a few minutes to look at the exhibits this evening," he said to Alfred. "But if you wish a private tour, the guides can take you thru some time next week. I can have an official catalogue sent over to you. I understand you are back at the Mansion."

"We have boxes of the catalogue back at the Mansion," Alfred replied a little sourly. "I never grow tired of handing them out to guests." He offered his hand to Laurent. A distant shadow distracted him. "Who's that downstairs?" Alfred lifted his chin to point over to the central hallway.

"Ah, _non_, Mr. Pennyworth. The Hermitage is now clear of staff and visitors. I know what it is that you mean. The lights flicker and the shadows look like shapes running. One of the previous curators wrote a little book about the ghosts. I should lend it to you. There are no pictures, but he knew that it was the lights, so there is no excitement. But what is funny is this: they are the same lights. And, so, the same ghosts. Maybe one day the city will pay to update the lights."

"When Hell freezes over they will." He sighed and nodded a certain degree of satisfaction.

"_Touché_," Laurent nodded. "Perhaps I can let you be on your way now, Mr. Pennyworth? You can be sure that everything is safe-and-sound and I know you have the Grand Ball to oversee. And I still have a lot of papers for FDGC that need to be signed."

"Yes," Alfred started to say. He knew he needed a rest. Another shadow flickered across the far hall. And then a noise. "What is that?"

"Mr. Pennyworth?"

"That growling noise?"

"Ah. That is the heating pipes. No doubt the source of further ghost stories. But we must suffer these too."

"That sounded like an animal." Alfred knew the sounds of the jungle, and he never forgot the sounds of predators.

"_Non, non._ It is an old building with many structural curiosities." He clapped his hands together, his patience finally dissipated. "And now I must really ask you to leave."

Alfred lifted his left index finger to his lips. "Shh," he whispered. His right hand reached into his long coat.

"Who are you calling?" Laurent mouthed, sure that his visitor was over-reacting.

Alfred shook his head and flipped open the tiny cellphone. "No-one," he mouthed. "I'm going to take a picture."


End file.
